


Life After the Ransom has been Paid

by Cards_Slash



Series: soulmates and criminals [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one-shots set after 225K.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four months in and Altair had only just barely managed to stay through the night in the giant bed he shared with Malik. The blanket he’d bought at the thrift store (one he found after he got lost while riding his bike around the city) helped negate the massive extravagance of the bed. It was a humble, ratty tan blanket with a hole in it that he could stick his fingers through and a stain that offended Malik on the deepest possible level. ( _You paid money for that_ was Malik’s attempt at acceptance when he saw it. _You didn’t just find it in a dumpster somewhere? Someone charged you money for it?_ ) 

Waking up to the groaning objection of Malik’s morning battle with the alarm clock wasn’t such a terrible motivator either. Altair liked scooting up behind him and worming his arms underneath the heavy-as-hell blankets that superheated Malik’s body to inhuman levels of comforting warmth. Altair hated the T-shirts Malik slept in on a deeply spiritual level but he liked the little shiver that knocked through Malik’s body when Altair’s cool hands slid up under it. He liked the smell of Malik’s hair in the morning, the feeling of the back of his neck where the dark hair on the nape of his neck was getting too long to look professional. And the humming way Malik’s body shifted closer to his. 

“You should get up,” Altair said when he kissed Malik’s shoulder. His fingers were spread out across his chest, just tip-toeing their way up. 

“No I shouldn’t,” Malik mumbled back.

“Mmm,” Altair mumbled back. “If you get up now we’ll have time to have sex before you have to take a shower.” He kissed Malik’s neck and drew a circle around his nipple with his fingertip. Then he pressed his chin against his shoulder while he waited for a response.

“What kind of sex?”

The most important thing Altair had learned in four months was that Malik could not be properly motivated by vague promises. It was either his training as a lawyer or his innate meticulous attention to details but he could not function without precise details. He also could not be motivated by anything less than exactly what he wanted. Compromises seemed to annoy the living hell out of him. “What kind will get you to wake up?”

Malik made a groaning noise as he reached over blindly to turn off the alarm clock before it could start screaming at him again and then wiggled around onto his side facing Altair. He tossed the blankets back away far enough to pluck Altair’s ratty blanket off his body (he hated it so much it was hilarious) and then grabbed him by the ass and dragged him forward. 

“I like you best as a nonverbal caveman,” Altair said as Malik rolled up onto his hands and knees over him. It was a pretty impressive move, one that Malik had perfected in four months. He couldn’t be trusted to eat toast and walk most mornings but he could find his way between Altair’s thighs blindfolded in the dark. 

“I know you do,” Malik said before he kissed him. 

\--

Malik simply had to stop being seduced out of sleep. It was mid-morning when he started yawning and Shaun’s frown had gone from faintly amused to angry within twenty minutes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “am I boring you with the important details?”

Yes he was, but that was hardly the problem. Malik knocked his head against his desk and let his arms flop across it so his fingers were in the dish of paperclips on the far edge. He said, “he just keeps waking me up on time.”

“Your son or your soul mate?”

“If it’s not one then it’s the other,” Malik said. He turned his head and bent his elbow so he could rest his cheek against his arm. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the sex but I need sleep. This is a medical condition at this point. I’m tired.”

“We all burdens we must bear,” Shaun said patiently. “Some are heavier than others.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm.”

“I am truly sorry. Please do continue to tell me about how you have sex every morning and night and are not getting enough sleep. I would love to hear more about how it’s affecting your health and happiness.”

Malik frowned and lifted his head. Shaun didn’t look the slightest bit worried. (Malik was just losing his touch that was all.) “That is quite enough from you.” Then he straightened up completely. “Fine, we’ll do work if it’s that important to you. Finish telling me about—whoever did whatever and why we’re involved.”

“If you feel you can suffer through it,” Shaun said.

Malik threw a pen at him and Shaun smiled so hard his face went pink.

\--

Kadar (as far as Altair could figure out) was the family peacekeeper. He seemed to exist simultaneously in seven different places at any given moment. He worked the press (with a small legion of people who did his bidding) and he acted as an intermediary for members of the family that were on sore terms with one another. He was his Mother’s single most loyal supporter and still had the time to show up at Malik’s house at ten in the morning with a blue slush drink in one hand and his phone in the other to announce, “let’s go loser. Time to make you pretty as a princess.”

Altair was wearing jeans, a T-shirt and the shoes Desmond had picked out for him. His hair (which hadn’t been cut in six months) was long enough now that it was falling into his face and he was pretty sure that he’d gained ten pounds in the past few months. “I think you’re going to need a miracle worker for that.”

“Miracles I’ve got,” Kadar said when he tucked his phone away. “What we need is a haircut and a nice suit. We’re officially throwing you to the sharks tonight so you have to look like a proper sacrifice. Is that a hickey?”

“Probably,” Altair said.

Kadar huffed. “He is twenty-nine fucking years old. You’d think he’d either get over the hickey thing or figure out they can’t show above your collar.” He got close enough it was vaguely unnerving and then made a low noise in his throat that was very close to actual growl before pulling back. “Oh well. Let’s go do what we can. I brought flash cards.” He reached into his pocket and pulled them out. They were a series of photos with writing on the back that told him the name, affiliation and general level of friendliness of everyone that was going to be at the event that night. 

“This is insane,” Altair said softly. 

“The insane ones have a star by their name.” 

\--

Malik was sleeping on the couch in his office with his suit jacket over his face when his beloved Mother came into the room. He knew her by the jingle of her jewelry and the smell of her perfume that had been seared into his brain since childhood. She stopped very near to him and waited for him to pull the jacket off his face and look at her.

“I see you are very busy, my son,” she said. But there was a fond smile on her face. “I understand,” she said in the next moment. “I wore your father out much the same in the first year. Do not worry, you will adjust.”

He made a noise of universal disgust. Then sat up and threw his suit jacket over the end of the couch. “Mom, please do not talk about sex. Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle it from you.”

“You are aware where you came from?”

“Yes,” he assured her. 

“Ah, good.”

“More to the point, Altair is not a woman. You have got to stop trying to make him out to be one. Every time you start talking about this you make him into a housewife or a Mother and—he’s not a woman.”

She waved her hand at him, dismissed the whole idea of such nonsense. “You act as if anyone would be surprised to know you have bullied your way to the top. I love you, son, and I am not a fool.”

“Oh my God,” he mumbled into his hands. And then stood up. “Was there a reason for you being here?”

“I came to see my son.”

“And torment me?”

Her hand touched his face and her smile assured him that was precisely why she was there. “You have always been very smart, Malik.” Then she pulled him down so she could kiss his forehead and he obediently stooped low enough to allow it. But then her fingers were pulling at his hair. 

“Oh its worse,” he mumbled, “you came to inspect me before the party.”

“This is very long, Malik.”

“I’m going back to sleep.” But it was too late, she had him by the hand and was pulling him away from the safety of his office. It was mildly surprising she hadn’t brought a team of specialists with her to make him into the best possible representation of her son. He wouldn’t have been surprised at all to find the second floor transformed into a beauty parlor. 

\--

Tazim had a Nanny. Her name was Delilah and she was a youngish woman with brown hair and a perpetual smile that made him a snack and did his homework with him and made sure he kept his room clean until Malik came home. 

“But one day,” Tazim had gotten very fond of telling Delilah, “Altair is going to start taking care of me and you won’t have to come anymore.”

“Oh,” Delilah said back (very often), “I’ll be sad when that happens because I won’t see you anymore.”

Now and again (four months in), Delilah left before Malik got home and Tazim and him were left to occupy awkward orbit around one another. The night of the party, Delilah had an appointment in the afternoon and Malik assured him he’d be home early enough to dress the kid. But it was five-fifty-one and Altair had already fed Tazim (pasta and beans, a favorite they shared that they both decided they shouldn’t tell Malik about) and they had to be ready in the next half hour.

“I hate suits,” Tazim said with a sad sigh. He was looking sharp, a near-perfect miniature of his father. His vest was already buttoned in place as he straightened the tie so it was under the collar of his shirt. He was wearing neon socks with his shoes waiting to be put on. When he looked up at Altair (mostly dressed in his new clothes) he lifted his eyebrow in the same disapproving way Malik did. “Where do you come from?” he asked.

“Somewhere without these things,” Altair said as he lifted the suit jacket up and let it drop. “Your Dad was supposed to be here to do this.”

Tazim flattened his lips together, went over to grab the wooden footstool and dragged it over to climb up on. He buttoned the top four buttons of Altair’s shirt with the air of a frustrated parent and then flattened the shirt down. The tie was hanging over Altair’s right arm and he picked it up and flipped it out, assessed it and then threw it over his head as Altair ducked to make it easier. Then he tucked it under the collar and messed with the length of the two ends until he had it how he wanted it. “You need to learn how to do this,” Tazim said.

“Yeah,” Altair agreed. He was watching the five-year-old tie his tie for him. Tazim’s little face all tense with concentration as he made the whole process look easy. “But now that I know you can do it, you can’t whine about how you can’t anymore.”

Tazim frowned and yanked the tie far tighter than comfortable. “Your shirt isn’t tucked in right.” Then he stepped down off the stool to get his own tie fixed. 

Altair dropped his suit jacket on the bed and pulled his shirt free and tucked it in again. “Do I have to wear a belt?”

“Yes,” Tazim said.

“That’s dumb,” Altair said. But he went back to get his shoes and belt out of the big closet. Malik was there when he went in, looking freshly scrubbed and polished as he went through his many suits to find one he liked. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Malik said. He turned to face him, smiled at his tie and ran his hand down it. “He’s pretty good at that. Your belt has to match your shoes.” 

“Who is even going to check?” Altair asked. But he made sure they matched while Malik made the whole process of getting dressed look simple. (Of course he did, he was like Tazim cursed to these suits since birth.)

\--

The news of the addition to the Al-Sayf family had been published in a series of strategic information dumps spread over the course of two months followed by a month of hushed quiet then followed by the much anticipated reveal of Altair Ibn-La’Ahad, the newest acquisition. His story of coming from the impoverished side-cities and meeting Malik by trying to mug him was a humorous, well-known sort of story among the elite. 

His Mother and Kadar had fended off the friendly overtures of interested parties as long as they felt was proper. Then there was this, this awful charity function that was held every single year with the same stagnant invitation list that brought together every member of the Al-Sayf family, their closest friends and the people with money who wanted to be thought of fondly by his Mother. Malik didn’t hate it, exactly, but he would rather have spent the evening having his fingernails pulled out. 

Tazim had left him at the door as soon as he spotted Kadar (who he adored) and was most recently seen dancing with his mother. Altair had managed to attach himself pretty firmly to Malik’s side until Mother came and dragged him out to teach him to dance. 

Malik found a safe spot near the refreshments table that allowed him a clear view of the people and afforded him a quick exit to the kitchen area if someone came too close with the intent to have a conversation. He sipped his drink and checked his phone to see how much longer they had to stay before they could leave.

That was when Hideous Harold showed up with a glass of scotch and a indulgent-red-smile. “I never thought it would happen! I _never_ thought it would happen.” Hideous Harold was, quite like his name implied, an unfortunate acquaintance of the family that nobody liked but nobody could find a real reason to push away. “And a man too? Nobody could have predicted that.”

“So I’ve heard,” Malik said. “Thank you for coming tonight Harold.” Thank you for paying twenty thousand dollars for the chance to ogle Malik’s new soul mate. An extravagant price upped five thousand dollars from the previous year (and Kadar had said they probably could have raised it even higher than that because people were gagging to get their hands on Altair). 

“I had to come!” Harold said. “Your Mother and you have kept this new one hidden so well nobody had any idea what he even looked like. He is attractive, by the way. Congratulations. Some of us couldn’t be so lucky.” Harold’s own soul mate (a woman who did not find him particularly charming either) was not a traditionally attractive sort of person. Whatever she lacked in physical beauty was made up in equal measure by Harold’s lacking personality. They wisely avoided one another when possible. “Oh there he comes now.”

Altair came over and half-smiled at Harold before putting an arm around Malik and tugging him sideways, “I need to talk to you,” he said against his cheek.

“Excuse us,” Malik said. 

“Not at all, I understand.” Harold thought they were going to sneak off and have sex. He seemed pleased by the idea and Malik did not care enough to try to dissuade him from it. 

He let Altair pull him through the door that led them into the back rooms where the servers were rushing around trying to finish up the next round of platters to go out. Malik had no idea what the hell Altair needed but he was sure it would require more privacy than huddling by the busiest door in the place. So he pulled him into an empty room to the side with a series of folded up chairs and tables. 

“What?” Malik asked.

“I didn’t mean to,” Altair said. Malik was going to ask what the hell he was talking about but then Altair started pulling things out of his pockets. Gold chains and watches and wallets that he dropped onto a push cart in an increasingly large pile. There were wedding and commitment rings, a pair of earrings, at least six necklaces, a fistful of dollars and four wallets along with some pearls, a cufflink and five watches. 

“How do you do something like this accidentally?” Malik asked.

“Uh,” Altair said. He looked mortified. His hands smoothed down his suit jacket and then he reached into the inside pocket and pulled out dozens of credit cards. “I’ve been pickpocketing people since I was a kid. You should probably check the trashcans, I think I threw away some people’s wallets.”

Malik just stared at the pile. 

“Sorry,” Altair said quietly. 

It was not as disastrous as it was funny. He covered his mouth with his hand because he felt like he was going to start smiling and that would not make Altair feel better. He cleared his throat to try to convince himself it was a serious problem and then said, “I’m going to get Kadar. Don’t steal anything else.”

Altair reached into one of his pockets and then held out Malik’s gold band (he could not remember being slipped off his finger). “Sorry,” he said again.

\--

Altair just unfolded one of the chairs and sat on it next to the obscenely large pile of stolen things. He sorted out the credit cards so they were in piles of who they belonged to and waited.

Kadar was shoved through the door with Malik right behind him. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t just—oh.” Kadar had one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his jaw as he looked down at the pile of things. “Well,” Kadar said quietly. “We did say he was a pickpocket. It’s not like anyone is going to be surprised.”

Malik slapped him. 

“Ow. Well what the hell are we going to do? Do you remember what belongs to who?” Kadar asked.

“No,” Altair said. “I don’t remember doing most of it. You left me alone!”

“You left him alone,” Kadar said to Malik. “Alright. I’m getting Mom.”

Malik sighed and picked through the necklaces and watches. “This is Maria’s,” he said when he pulled up a thin gold chain. “You got this off her without her noticing?”

“She hasn’t found me and bruised my kidneys yet,” Altair said. This was not a jest. He fully believed she would. 

Kadar came back with their Mom who looked as if she were just gushing approval over the servers in the kitchen and came to a shuddering stop as soon as she saw the pile of his stolen goods. Unlike Malik who tried not to be amused by it and unlike Kadar who was honestly stumped by the situation, she just tipped her head back and laughed. 

“You are precious,” she said to him with her hands cupped around Altair’s face. “Do not worry. Boys, go and get Maria and Tazim.” Then, when they left to do what they were told, she pulled her own chair out and sat on it so that their knees were brushing together. “You are a resourceful boy.”

“A thief,” he corrected.

Her hand waved in the air. “My son is a brute. He goes and tears families apart and charges his victims for it. This,” she said as she picked at the pile, “this is very useful. Perhaps not in this context, but it shows that you have what it takes to survive. This is the most important thing, Altair. You have not stumbled into a blessing. Do not mistake the glitter masks that we wear, our family is vast and powerful but we are only as good as the sum of our resolve to remain in power. You will adapt and you will become even more skilled at survival. You, my boy, will lead my family when I have gone. This is what I see in you.”

“Because I took people’s stuff?” he asked.

She smiled. “Perhaps. Perhaps because you did not try to keep it. Malik will be the face of my empire, but he does not have enough heart.” Then she stood up as Maria and Tazim came in with Malik and Kadar just behind them. 

“Wow,” Tazim said.

Maria laughed even louder than Mama had. She took the necklace that Malik held out for her and slapped Altair on the shoulder. “Ass,” she said. “Alright. Tazim.” She plucked the jewelry out of the pile. “You’re going to go give these things back to the ladies I send you to. Malik, have the servers round up all the trash bags. Kadar, find the wallets and you, you little thief, you’re going to give everyone their wallets back. Mama, could you handle the watches?”

\--

Malik watched Altair working his way through the crowd, tried to catch the exact moment he slid the men’s wallets back into their pockets and couldn’t see it. The whole motion was far too smooth to make out at any distance and other than directing the man toward the correct people he didn’t want to get too close to the moment. He was supposed to swoop in and save him if he got caught. (That seemed increasingly unlikely.)

When they’d finished, Altair came to stand next to him with a pink-faced-embarrassment and a stiff drink in his hand. 

“How do you do it?” Malik asked.

“Do what?” Altair asked.

“Take someone’s wallet without them noticing?” Malik asked.

“Like this,” Altair said as he held up Malik’s wallet. He smiled at him as Malik plucked it out of his hand. “I don’t know. I learned it so long ago I don’t even think about it anymore. Desmond tried to learn but he was bad at it and I didn’t want him to do it anyway. Once you get a job for the old man he owns you.”

“There’s a family party next month,” Malik said. “We’ll just make sure everyone leaves their valuables in a safe by the door.”

Altair snorted. “Where’s the fun in that?” Then he shuffled ever-so-slightly closer and said, “I’m sorry, really.”

“Perhaps this is the way in which we are complimentary. You are a criminal and I am a lawyer. Whatever crime you commit, I will be able to defend you from?”

“Ha,” Altair said. “When do we get to leave?”

“I think, after what has just happened, we will be free to leave whenever we want. Mother won’t even protest and I believe Maria will take Tazim if we ask her nicely.” He put his arm around Altair and liked the way he felt there against him. (Even if he were ever so slightly nervous about the state of his valuables.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Altair takes over watching Tazim and hair dye is applied

At seven months, just one month after Altair had suffered through the painfully polite process of adding or subtracting a list of demands from the official agreement that legally bound him to Malik for the rest of his life, Maria had bluntly said: “I fired the Nanny.”

It was over dinner, in public, with Tazim looking bored as they waited for their food. Malik (up to that moment) had been staring at his phone with an increasingly worrisome look of fury on his face. (Something at work, going by the twitch in his jaw.) 

“I liked Delilah,” Tazim said.

“What?” Altair said (because someone needed to care about Maria randomly firing Malik’s employees). “Why?”

Maria was looking pointedly at Malik who was still glaring at his phone. If he’d heard (and it didn’t look like he did) he obviously didn’t have an opinion on the matter. Maria’s eyes narrowed, she kicked Malik under the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle. “I said I fired your Nanny.”

“What?” Malik said. He barely managed to look up from the phone. Then he glanced at Tazim and then back at her. “I’m surprised you waited this long.” Then he looked at Altair (as if what he was about to say was meant to be confidential), “therapy must be going well for you. Excuse me I have to do something about this.” Then he was getting up from the table and throwing his napkin in his seat in that way that meant he was furious beyond all reason. 

“How would you know how my therapy is going?” he asked Maria.

Tazim sighed. “If Dad is leaving can we go somewhere that serves food I actually like?”

Maria glanced after Malik’s retreating back and then nodded. “Yup.” She stood up and picked up her bag (not a purse, she said) before motion Tazim toward the door where a man in a suit gave them their coats with a deeply worried look on his face. “The kid wants pizza,” Maria explained. “Tell Mr. Al-Sayf we’ve gone if he asks.” 

Once outside, the valet brought Maria her car and she held the door while Tazim climbed in and buckled himself into his booster. Then she swung the car door shut and put her back against it, looked at Altair and said, “I know everything that concerns my son. I’m not good at the day-to-day monotony of raising him but I make it my business to know what’s important to know. Delilah is a good kid, I liked her fine but she’s a security risk because she can be bought. You have changed the parameters. The man that owned you, he’s clever and he’s persistent. If he thinks he has a chance to extract money he’s not going to hesitate. There have been no threats and I have been watching very closely. More importantly, Tazim is yours now as much as he is mine or Malik’s. You weren’t ever going to take this on until you had to. I’ve met Desmond, he’s a great guy. He said you raised him. So I’ve got faith you can manage.”

“Why are you watching closely if there are no threats?” Altair asked.

“Maybe I’m just looking for a reason to burn the bitch to the ground,” Maria said with a sweet smile. “So far, the Old Man has shown no interest in taking on my family. He’s smart. He won’t make a move if he doesn’t think he can win.” 

“Are we going?” Tazim shouted from inside.

So they went to eat pizza and talked about video games. Malik didn’t show up. He wasn’t at home when Maria dropped them off. He came home at some point, long after midnight, and collapsed in bed next to Altair.

\--

Mother was a singular force of nature. There was no point in attempting to build defenses against her whims because she would tear them down again with all of the impressive power of a tornado ripping up picket fences. 

“I don’t think he’d be interested,” Malik said again.

“Your brother told me that Maria has let your Nanny go.” Mother said. She looked very proper and very comfortable in the big arm chair in his office with her legs crossed at the knee and her hands resting angelically in her lap. “This means there is progress. Shaun said that you have finalized your legal documents. It is time. A bonding ceremony is a _tradition._ ”

“We already have the rings,” Malik said. “We’ve already had the dinner, we already have the certificate. We don’t need a big ceremony.”

“This is not a need, son,” Mother said.

Malik was not going to win the argument. He knew that he wasn’t going to win the argument. He did not even know why he was participating in it instead of going to Altair and telling him there was no point in trying to avoid the inevitable. “I don’t think he’d be interested,” Malik said again.

“I will ask him then.”

“Fine, ask him then.”

Mother narrowed her eyes at him. “Are there troubles?”

Malik dropped his head down to knock his forehead against the table and muttered mean things about his mother so quietly there was no chance she’d hear them. Then he sat up. “A few months ago he pickpocketed every person we invited to the charity dinner. He still can’t sleep in our bed every night because it’s too big. He had a mental breakdown over buying a few suits—cheap ones, even. He actually has every gift we were given at the first dinner locked in a closet. He hid the key. He is _uncomfortable_ with grand displays of wealth. I have tried to tell you this.”

“He does not sleep in your bed?”

Of course that was the only thing she heard. “Most of the time now. He bought this stained, ratty, holey blanket that he sleeps with.”

Mother made an assessing noise and then cleared her throat. “You worry too much, son. If he does not want a grand display of wealth we will plan a small ceremony. This is important to me, Malik. It should be important to you as well. This is the example you are setting for your son.”

Malik could not even think of a further protest. He just motioned his hand and she took it as his permission to do whatever she was going to do regardless of his wishes. 

\--

“I’m pretty sure this is going to get us kicked out,” Altair said because it needed to be said. Tazim was sitting on the barstool in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his thin shoulders. He was holding a mirror out in front of his face as he anxiously watched Altair shaving the sides of his head. It was hardly the first time he’d given some little boy a haircut. Perhaps the first time he’d been this much bigger than the kid, perhaps the first time he’d ever done a Mohawk. 

“Maria will take us in,” Tazim said. He tipped his head to the side when Altair pushed his thumb against him. “Besides, Dad won’t be angry at you. He’ll be mad at me.”

“It is your idea.”

Tazim scoffed. “You’re the adult.” Then he dropped the mirror and let it lay in his lap as he looked upward out of the corner of his eye at Altair. “Are you happy to be here?”

Altair finished shaving the last bits of long hair to smooth the edges of the Mohawk. Then he turned the razor off and set it down on the counter and ducked down to blow the stray bits of clipped hair away. “Yes,” he said. “What about you?”

“Uncle Kadar said that I should be really thankful for you. He said that you’ll make my Dad a better person. Everyone thinks Uncle Kadar is too nice and he likes everyone but he doesn’t. He told me that it’s important to make everyone think you’re really nice even if you’re not feeling nice.”

“You’re not that good at that,” Altair said. Because they had not always been such good friends. He picked up the bleach and the hair dye and read the instructions on both. Tazim’s hair was black-as-coal and thick-as-hell. 

Tazim smiled and it was Maria’s evil-little-grin on his face. “I don’t have to be nice to anyone. My Dad isn’t and people don’t bother him.” Well, that was one way of looking at it. “But Uncle Kadar likes you. Maria said I should cut you some slack. Dad told me that you were part of our family now and that we had to take care of you. I think you should have gotten me a dog but, I like you. I’m like having you around.”

Altair was shaking the bottle he was going to use to bleach Kadar’s hair so they could die it neon pink. The kid wasn’t exactly declaring his unbiased love but announcing his tolerance and that was pretty good coming from a spoiled six-year-old. “Is that because I feed you junk while your Dad is gone and agree to dye your hair?”

“Well I like that about you,” Tazim said loudly. “But I think you’re cool even if you didn’t.”

“Fair enough. I think you’re cool too.” He finished shaking the bottle and picked up the instructions to read over them again. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“It’s your head,” Altair said. Then he pulled the gloves on and Tazim picked up the mirror so he could watch.

\--

Malik had left his son with a full head of black hair when he went to work that morning. By the time he got home in the evening (admittedly later than normal thanks to the case he was working on) he found his son with a half-shaved head and vividly bleached-blond and neon-pink hair. The black was visible only at the roots and the sides that had been shaved close enough to his skull the outline of his birthmark was visible. 

“Hi Dad,” Tazim said to him. He said it so casually. He said it with his arms wrapped around a bowl of popcorn. To his credit, he didn’t walk away dismissively but stand right there where Malik could stare at his hair. It didn’t look _bad_ necessarily but shocking. The black roots were topped with bright yellow-white and then neon pink that was lifting skyward by (a surely ridiculous amount of) hair gel. “I coerced him into it,” Tazim said after a long pause.

“Altair did this?” Malik said.

“Yes.”

Well. That was— 

“Dad,” Tazim said. “Do you like it?”

“I would have liked it better if you’d asked before you did it.” He reached out to pluck at the stiff spikes and rubbed his fingers across the soft-shaved sides. Then he sighed. “It’s not terrible.”

“It’s _awesome_ ,” he corrected. Then he went on his way toward the den and Malik went out toward the kitchen to find Altair all but literally hiding. He looked appropriately shamefaced about his part in the whole debacle and didn’t even attempt to defend himself. 

No, Altair simply put his hands up in defeat and said, “I know I should have asked you but he really didn’t want you to know. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I feel really bad about it. He’s your kid and I defaced him.”

Malik dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and reached out to drag Altair up against his body (because liked him best there, because he liked remembering he still had a soul mate that he loved after ripping apart families for ten straight hours). Altair came easily, fit nicely against him with his arms over Malik’s shoulders. “You should have talked to me about it. He’s six, his ideas are not always as genius as he would lead you to believe. He is _our_ kid and you did not deface him you merely decorated him.”

“I expected more yelling,” Altair said quietly.

Malik sighed. “We need to have a conversation about how we intend to raise our child.” That was a strange thing to say. He hadn’t had a conversation with anyone about Tazim and how he would be raised since the boy was an infant and he fought his Mother over diapers and baby formula. Tazim was his and solely his as long as the boy had been alive. “Until we manage that, let’s agree not to allow anything major until we’ve consulted one another.”

“Yeah, okay.” Altair moved to pull away and Malik held him there. He liked the way Altair smiled as if he couldn’t stop himself, liked how easily he gave in to being held and how he kissed in quiet little moments like this. “How was your day?”

“Long. Depressing. Interrupted by my Mother demanding we have a bonding ceremony. Then depressing and long again. I hate it when there are kids. People should care more about their children and less about their money.” He worked his fingers up under Altair’s T-shirt and spread his hands across the small of his back. 

“Should I be expecting your Mom to show up?”

“Yes. Just remember you don’t actually have to let her get her way just because she’s convincing.” He kissed Altair again and then kissed his cheek and his jaw and his throat. And Altair made it easy with his head tipped back and his hips pushed forward against Malik’s. His little noises of appreciation a vibration through the skin. Altair’s hand was pushing down the back of his shirt and then up into his hair.

“Tazim’s still awake,” Altair said but he didn’t make it sound like it was that important.

“What’s he doing?” His hands slid farther up the back of Altair’s shirt. Malik was starving (for food) and the practical comfort of feeling this close to someone. He sucked pink marks into Altair’s skin before he straightened up to kiss him again. It was a sloppy-hurried-kiss to match the tightening grip of Altair’s arms around his shoulders. To match the way they were grinding against one another’s body. “Looked like he was busy.”

“He’s watching a movie,” Altair said. 

Malik turned them in a stuttering circle, pushed Altair back against the counter and pulled his shirt up over his head. He kissed him again as Altair pulled at his belt (because the man was nothing if not direct about his wants) and the button of his pants. “Movies are loud,” Malik said just seconds before Altair’s hand was down in his pants stroking his cock. “Louder than you,” he amended.

Altair leaned back into the counter, reached toward the stove where they kept the oil pulled it over. Malik pulled his pants open and down and Altair kissed him again—fast and hard—before he was turning around. They fucked quick-and-dirty with Altair bent over the kitchen counter and Malik ninety percent still dressed in work clothes. His ears were burning for any sound of an approaching child while Altair bit his knuckles and stifled his moans into little breathy grunts. 

\--

Malik made dinner (for himself) while Altair folded the laundry he’d been ignoring all day long. Tazim reappeared with an empty bowl and a suspiciously slow shuffle of motion. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and looked back and forth between them with his eyes narrowed. 

“What?” Malik asked.

“You don’t look mad,” Tazim said. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“I’m not angry this time,” Malik said. But the next time, they would all suffer for their minor insubordinations. He hugged his son when Tazim put his arms around him and then sent him off to take a shower and get ready for bed. Once he was gone, he said, “I’m not entirely convinced this wasn’t some kind of experiment.”

“To see what?”

“What we’d do. If I haven’t mentioned, he’s conniving. He gets it from me. Be careful.” And Malik just seemed so proud of this. 

Altair sighed. “Next kid we have is mine,” he said. And he meant it as a jest but the look on Malik’s face was a thoughtful kind of joy as he nodded his head to that notion.


End file.
